Barrow
by R Kincaid Stevenson
Summary: James Barrow is a wizard, out of his time and away from his homeland. In the aftermath of the War between the Red Court and the White Council, he intends to do little but keep his head down and avoid further attention from the Council. One does not survive breaking a Law of Magic by drawing attention to one's self. Well, this wizard doesn't, at least.


I sat up with a grunt, pulling the sheets aside and swinging my legs around as I did. It took me a moment to realize what had woken me: the phone ringing on my desk on the far side of the room. I felt my way toward it in the dark, narrowly avoiding the desk chair and a savagely stubbed toe. I picked up the phone and listened.

"James?" a male voice asked hesitantly over the line.

"Yes," I responded, placing the voice. Robert Carson, Monterey's "Chief of Police," for whatever power that title endowed him. I waited.

"Jesus, man, aren't you Brits supposed to be, you know, polite? Don't you know how to say hello?"

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinched the bridge of my nose, then ran my hand down to smooth my mustache. "I do, indeed, Robert. Hello. What do you want?" I tried to keep my tone friendly, but it was sometime around 3 in the morning. I may have been more brusque than usual.

"I've got a problem, and I could use your input. Same fee as last time, if you can be here in the next half hour."

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. "I'm not a private investigator, Robert. Nor am I a 'professional wizard,' despite whatever nonsense you've heard out of Chicago." Damn Harry Dresden for that absurdity, along with the score of complaints I and the rest of the Council could level against him. His need for attention from otherwise-unwitting mundanes had made my life in particular significantly more complicated than it needed to be.

"I know, James. And I wouldn't ask, but..." His voice quavered. "One of my guys is in trouble. And it's bad."

I very nearly sneered at his sentimentality before realizing it would be wasted. A good sneer should be seen by the intended target. I'd have to save it for later.

"Very well. Give me the address. I'll be there shortly." He rattled off an address that I guessed would be on the Drive and I hung up. He was still thanking me as the phone settled into the receiver.

I dressed quickly, slacks and a shirt, suspenders but no tie. I ran a comb through my hair and then picked up my bowler from the top of my dresser. I ensured it was free of dust or debris and settled it on my head firmly. I had to feel the entire brim to ensure it was settled straight; once you understand how many creatures and nightmares can make use of mirrors to spy on you, or to creep into your home, you learn to do without. Satisfied, I stepped out of my room and onto the landing.

My home was rather large, with eight bedrooms, a study, two living areas, and more bathrooms than I cared to count. My bedroom was on the second floor, the door opening out to the center of the landing. Two bedrooms flanked my own, currently unused, and a matching pair of curved staircases flowed down at each end of the landing to the foyer.

I walked to the stairs on my right and descended quickly, the candles in their sconces lighting ahead of me as I took the curving stairs two at a time. When I reached the bottom, I turned right into a relatively short hallway and rapped sharply on a door as I strode past. My shoes were beneath a bench near the side entrance and I sat and began to lace them on. A moment later the door down the hall opened, and my apprentice thrust her head out, coppery curls bouncing. She looked at me questioningly.

"Bring the car around. We have work to do."

I finished lacing up my shoes and stood, walking a few steps to the door while Jessica gathered her things and headed for the back of the house, where the garage was. I grabbed my black pea coat from its hook by the door and stepped out into the brisk night air, pulling the coat on as the door closed gently behind me. Moments later I saw headlights flicker on from behind the house, cutting a pair of beams through the wisps of fog. My car rolled around the corner shortly after, tires crunching in the gravel. Jessica beamed at me merrily from behind the windscreen, and slowed the car to a stop. I made my way around to the passenger side, pulling open the door and sliding in. The car began to pull away from the house before I was quite done buckling up, jostling me as Jessica guided it down the drive.

I looked at my apprentice, eyebrow raised. "In a hurry?"

She nodded, eyes on the road. "Experiment running. Don't want to be away too long, could, well... blow up."

"Blow up," I repeated. "In my house."

She glanced at me briefly. "Minor explosion at best, boss. And probably won't anyways." She paused. "Probably."

I sighed and turned my attention back to the road ahead, thinking. "Pescadero Point. Easternmost part of the Drive, correct?"

She nodded briefly. "Yeah. That's where we're heading?"

"I think so. The address seems about right. I just dislike being so close to the Witch Tree this late at night."

"Witch Tree? You mean Ghost Tree, right? The area that people see the ghost of that lady?"

I waved my hand. "The name originally referred to a single tree that's been known by both names, and by others, over the centuries. The Spanish called it 'El arbol de los espectros,' the Tree of Specters. The local native tribes had other names. But yes, that's the one."

"I don't know how you know so much more about it than me." She frowned. "You've lived here less than three years. I've been here my whole life. How do you know all that?"

"It's called reading, Jessica. You should try it some time."

She snorted dismissively. "Why there?"

"Carson called. Needs help with something," I said. "He gave me an address. I'm fairly sure that's where it is."

"You growing soft, boss? I thought you weren't a fan of Bob?"

"I'm not," I snipped at her. "But it never hurts to have the local constables owe you a favor or two."

The automobile drove on in silence. When I say silence, I mean it. Other than the sound of the wheels on the road, it made little noise. The engine of the 1940 Traction Avant had been removed entirely, replaced with something powered directly through a small effort of will. It was a joint creation of mine and my talented young apprentice. Like many other objects we had created over the past two years, it was a blending of technology, albeit older technology, and magic. And it was far more reliable than other engines would be in our presence. Wizards tend to a deleterious effect on technology, especially anything from the Second World War and later. While the car's old engine was mostly reliable for us, it had failed on enough occasions to warrant an overhaul. I was much more pleased with its current build than the previous.

Five minutes later, the security guard at the gate lifted the arm and waved us in after Jessica flashed him the laminated card Robert had given us the last time we'd worked with him. She pulled the car forward and accelerated onto the Drive as she rolled up the driver-side window. I kept myself busy, watching each side of the street in turn as trees flashed by us.  
The 17-mile Drive is a length of private road that encircles Pebble Beach and offers some beautiful scenery along its route. Typically it is closed to non-residents at night, but the guard had clearly been expecting someone. Carson was trying to be efficient, which was a nice change. I disliked dealing with petty authoritarians, those otherwise impotent individuals who have been given some measure of jurisdiction over a minor place or thing, and who insisted on exercising that authority in lieu of common sense or self-preservation. And while those people had existed a century prior, it seemed modern nights had given humanity leave of its senses and dictators of their own tiny acre had sprouted up nearly everywhere.

I could make out the flashing lights of the police vehicles well before we had arrived. There were perhaps half a dozen, as well as an ambulance and a couple of unmarked vehicles, likely also police. We pulled in beside the ambulance, climbed out of the car, and began to pick our way over the stony terrain toward where the area had been cordoned off with police tape. The two paramedics were leaning against the front of the vehicle, sipping coffee from disposable cups.

"Was someone hurt?" Jessica asked them. They glanced at each other, and the taller of the two, a young man with an olive complexion and dark eyes, frowned and gestured toward the police tape. "You could say that. Who are you?"

"I'm Jessi, and this is-"

"We're on a clock, Jessica," I interrupted. I nodded to the paramedics. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Jessica waved at them and followed after. There were flood lights set up around the area, and uniformed officers with flashlights searching through the brush and rocks surrounding it. I could see Carson, sitting on a boulder next to a man who was not in uniform. The other man had his face buried in his hands, and appeared to by crying. I couldn't make out their words, so I stopped and reached out with my senses, attempting to Listen.

And then it hit me. The smell. Metallic, almost sweet. Blood, and a great deal of it, nearby. Someone had died here tonight.


End file.
